


Emphasis on Redemption One-Shots

by ead13



Series: Emphasis on Redemption [2]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Character Development, Fluff, Gen, Headcanon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-07-27 12:23:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20045968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ead13/pseuds/ead13
Summary: Pieces of my AU that didn't fit into the narrative but I was dying to write anyhow! Heavy on the feels, building relationships, and otherwise giving Kieran Duffy a world that is a million times better than the one he was dealt.





	1. Observations from the Stump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the thoughts running through Kieran's head as he is forced to watch day to day life with the Van der Linde gang. When he snaps, it isn't for the reasons Arthur thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't buy that line of dialogue where Kieran says the Van der Lindes don't look different from the O'Driscolls. Not even a little.

Being tied up to a tree in the middle of the camp had its pros and cons as compared to the stables where he had spent his first two nights. On the downside, it was hard to rest when he felt constantly threatened by the countless people throwing him death glares and taunting comments. In one instance, he had actually been pelted with rocks by a little boy (admittedly small ones that did little more than injure his pride). The leers were just as bad though. One bearded brute in particular liked to walk by and grin as if imagining all the terrible things he wanted to do to him. It made his skin crawl.

Another unfortunate aspect about this arrangement was the fact that it was impossible to talk to Mary-Beth like he had in the stables. During the day, she couldn’t even glance in his direction, lest she give too much away. Once everyone was in bed save the lookout, she still snuck him a drink at night, but couldn’t say a word for fear of being overheard by someone in their open tents. He missed having her talk to him; it had done a lot to calm him down that first night. Hearing her voice float about the camp really wasn’t that much of a consolation.

The sun beating down on him was becoming more and more of an annoyance as he realized his nose was getting sunburned. His hat was probably still floating around somewhere up by that frozen river… On the other hand, the wind at night chilled him right through his linen shirt. He’d asked for a blanket once, but that went about as well as he’d expected.

If he were being optimistic about his situation, he could at least figure out the dynamics of the Van der Linde gang from his vantage. It was drastically different from life in the O’Driscoll gang, and he liked it. For one thing, Mary-Beth was not the only woman; the Van der Linde gang had at least five others, though they seemed for the most part relegated to chores. One of them even had a child, the little boy with the rocks. Colm would never have tolerated such “liabilities”; if any of the whores got pregnant, they were sent away and that was that. Kieran was fairly certain the boy’s father was still in the gang based on the way they spoke, though the boy and his mom did not share their tent with him.

He also quickly realized that the Van der Linde’s had an odd assortment of people staying with them besides the women. After his first day on the stump, he’d witnessed his captor, the one called Arthur, hauling a man who was passed out drunk. Based on the others’ comments, this was normal behavior. What kind of gang took care of a useless drunkard? Then there was the old man, the one they called Uncle. He didn’t seem to do much either besides loiter around the camp. It was definitely a puzzle.

If he ever got off that tree, he was certain he knew who he could turn to by now, having watched them interact with each other. The cook, a heavy man with a heavy moustache, actually gave him apologetic looks when he heard his stomach growl, and usually did his best to face away when preparing anything. The colored girl had actually caved and given him some water once, though she wouldn’t look him in the eye when she did. Then, there was his savior, the half native, half colored man. He was a quiet, thoughtful sort, though Kieran wasn’t fool enough to think the man incapable of killing him. Essentially, push had come to shove when the man was escorting him to the wagons. There were certain…side effects…thanks to the fact that he had been drinking water, and when he’d broken down and asked for the opportunity to relieve himself, he just muttered something about “not my fault” and “not going to ask questions” before being escorted to the bushes. He still came every morning before the sun rose to take him, sparing him the embarrassment of having to ask again. It was still humiliating, but certainly better than the alternative.

The men came in and out those first three days, and he could hear all the news from his spot while they ate stew in front of him. Charles had hunted a deer so they could have venison. The girls had gone to town and gotten good gossip. Arthur had beaten the tar out of some fool named Tommy and Hosea was going to be pissed. It made Kieran wonder if this camaraderie had been similar in the O’Driscoll gang and he just wasn’t privileged enough to witness it. Seeing it now, he really, really wished he could be a part of something like that.

Then there was the rescue. One of their members had apparently been captured, and he overheard their plans to bring him home no matter what. It was just…how they phrased it, bringing him...HOME. Kieran had been prisoner for nearly a week, and despite what he’d said to Arthur, he didn’t actually think Colm would bother sending anyone for him. Would Colm have come if he were one of the best shooters in the gang, or would even that not matter? To the Van der Lindes, it didn’t come down to this Sean guy’s job, or how good he was; they wanted him back because he was a part of the gang.

The party that ensued when he returned was unreal. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen so much joy in one place since before his parents had died. There was laughter ringing everywhere, huge smiles and clinking bottles and music and dancing. It was almost overwhelming in a way, and it was entirely torturous to have to watch from the outside looking in. He would never be a part of this as an O’Driscoll, and the very thought made tears well up in his eyes. Could he be a part of this if he helped the Van der Lindes? Was this worth what he knew Colm would do to him if he ever got caught?

Kieran Duffy had spent so much of his life being afraid, but as he watched Mary-Beth dancing with Arthur, her bright smile inspiring the closest thing to a smile he had ever seen from the intimidating man, it occurred to him that he hadn’t really been living for a long time now. Damn the consequences, he wanted to be wanted more than anything. Maybe they’d never welcome him in, but if there was a chance, he was resolved to take it.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice Arthur approaching until he was a few yards away. He was teased. He was so out of it that he fell for it. He was mad and sad and scared and hurt and the words finally left his lips.

“Six Point Cabin.”

His fate was sealed.


	2. Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kieran arrives at camp with Arthur's unenthusiastic blessing, trying to figure out where he belongs. Before he can get too far, the demon-child with the pebbles shows up, and they somehow help each other find their place. Plus, horses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the beautiful but entirely miss-able pieces of background character interaction is how Jack Marston goes from throwing rocks at the O'Driscoll to calling him "Uncle Kieran" as the story progresses. I wanted to give a moment that highlights the turning point in their relationship.

It hadn’t been much fun once he returned from Six Point Cabin. Not that he expected it would be, of course; you didn’t just join a new gang and expect to be welcomed with open arms, even more so when your past gang was your new gang’s most hated enemy. Their leader (or was he a senior advisor? Kieran still couldn’t figure out the balance between this older man and Arthur) came out to meet the trio once they’d hitched up the horses, and John explained as best as he could Arthur’s verdict on him. Of course, it wasn’t as if there were much to explain, seeing as all Arthur had actually said was ‘head back’. Was he welcome? Was he on some kind of probation? Was he only staying until they could talk it over? It was a relief when Hosea introduced himself after raising his eyebrows a little, and then inquired for his own name. That was already a bonus, considering Colm O’Driscoll probably still didn’t know his name after how many months…

Then there was a quick tour of the camp, mostly just where he’d be unfurling the worn-out sleeping roll he’d been gifted near the scout fire, and where to come for food. Kieran could already tell he wouldn’t be entering that area too often; the judgmental glares and muttered insults from other gang members weren’t exactly encouraging him to hang around. At least the cook was nice enough. As soon as he saw him, he pulled out a can of sweetcorn because “he must still be hungry”. That was very true, and he was grateful he hadn’t needed to ask. In the future, all he’d have to do was come when the call went up for meal. Sure, he’d probably be eating his food with the horses like he had been in his last camp, but at least this was a clear procedure and a guarantee for some kind of sustenance. Still an improvement.

The one good part of the day had been when Mary-Beth introduced him to the horses. She must have known he wasn’t real keen on meeting the glowering humans yet, and decided to start him with something more calming. Each horse had a name, and Kieran was usually able to picture which person belonged with which horse based on all his time on the stump. Unfortunately, she was called away by the woman they called Grimshaw for some task, reprimanded for being distracted from her chores. She looked apologetic for leaving him, but was not going to disobey her taskmaster. He knew the feeling.

So, there he was with a small herd of horses and a few supplies. No one had actually given him any instructions on what they wanted him to do, but as his eyes scanned the animals, he noted that some of them looked as if they hadn’t been properly brushed in weeks. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen anyone do it between his time tied up in the stables of Colter and the stump here. That he could do.

He decided to begin with the small dark-brown gelding he’d shared on the ride to Six Point Cabin. Poor horse had carried the weight of two, though he knew his weight barely made a difference, and the condition of his coat was atrocious even before their little jaunt. At least this horse kind of knew him already. He grabbed the brush and made a move towards the horse. “Old Boy, isn’t that you? No offense, but you’re lookin’ like an old boy. Will ya let me help ya?” His voice was soft, his movements calm and assured, and Old Boy looked at him while twitching his ears without pulling away. Kieran ran his hand along his flank, catching on the dried mud and patches of snarls. Poor horse deserved better. “That’s a good boy…”

“What are you doin’ to daddy’s horse, filthy O’Drisko?!”

The defiant high-pitched voice from behind him rattled Old Boy, and Kieran was barely able to scramble out of the way before being kicked, tumbling to the earth. By the time he dusted himself off, he registered that the voice belonged to none other than the little punk who had been throwing rocks at him while he was still tied to the stump. Oh no, not that demon! He wanted to resent the kid, Jack, he believed his name was, for his actions and cruel words, especially after how he’d nearly gotten him pummeled by this horse just now, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, the anger burning in the little boy’s eyes made him sad. He was only imitating what he’d observed, after all. Kids did that.

“I’m tryin’ to brush him!” Kieran defended, scooping up the brush to present to the kid as evidence. “Ya see how dirty he’s gotten? Somebody needs to get him cleaned up so he can feel better.”

“That’s not your job, that’s daddy’s!” He folded his arms defiantly.

Wait. Daddy? He hadn’t had the chance to process that the first time Jack had said it, being that his life was in potential danger from Old Boy’s hooves, but now this bit of information took hold. All that time on the stump and he hadn’t been able to figure out who the father was. Several of the men in camp had shown affection for him, but none ever spent time in the tent where he and his mother slept. If Old Boy belonged to his dad then…”Daddy” was the one he’d ridden with, that flippant young man with the long black hair hanging in his face that Arthur seemed so frustrated with. Well, if he was the dad, Kieran could imagine why Arthur was mad at him. No man was more protective of Jack than Uncle Arthur, as he’d heard him called.

He wanted to say that this boy’s daddy was taking bad care of his horse, but that was probably not a tactical choice. “Your daddy’s busy, and my job is to help with horses. I know a lot about them.”

“You’re just gonna steal him, O’Drisko!” Now he was pointing an accusing finger at him. God, why was it so embarrassing to be picked on by a child?

“I ain’t an O’Driscoll! I keep tellin’ everybody that, but nobody listens to me!” Kieran asserted, his tone grown frazzled. “O’Driscoll is a bad man who did a lot of mean things to me! I am happy to be here and not with them.” Well, it was still awfully early to be certain of that statement, but he liked to believe it could be true anyhow.

Jack still eyed him suspiciously. Didn’t they all, no matter how many times he protested. “You could be a liar.”

“I could, but I did save Arthur today. Would a real O’Driscoll do that?”

Suddenly, Jack’s entire demeanor shifted. “Uncle Arthur? You saved him? Then you must not be an O’Drisko. What are you, then?”

Damn, kids were so confusing! One minute he could be lying, but after one statement that could also be a lie he was somehow in Jack’s good graces? Well, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He gestured to himself. “I’m Kieran.”

The child wrinkled his nose. “Like Aunt Karen?”

“No, KEE-REN.”

“Hmm, that’s confusing.” Jack took a step closer, much to his surprise. “Can I help brush Old Boy? Mommy never lets me get near the horses, but I wanna help!”

Kieran panicked. If Jack wasn’t allowed near the horses and he somehow got hurt on his watch, they would have his hide. “I’d like that, but I don’t wanna make yer Ma angry.”

Jack sighed. “Yeah, she’s scary when she’s mad.”

He had to chuckle, relieved that the boy wasn’t going to fight him on this. “But if you ever get her to say ‘yes’, I’d be happy to teach you how to brush the horses.”

“You think Daddy would spend more time with me if I could help?”

Despite how new he was to the group’s dynamics, Kieran felt a sudden powerful urge to punch the boy’s father in the face. Even though his own father had been taken from him far too early, he at least knew what a loving father was like. This poor kid might never know despite having all the doting aunts and uncles he could ever want. “You can’t worry ‘bout makin’ him happy,” he finally replied, choosing his words carefully. “He’s just gonna miss out. Anyway, people are hard to get along with sometimes, but horses’ll love ya if you love ‘em back, no matter what. That’s why I like bein’ with ‘em so much.”

Jack looked at Kieran with wide eyes, then turned his gaze to Old Boy. He was calm once more, and watching the pair. “Can I pet Old Boy? Pleeeease?”

It was probably a bad idea, but Kieran didn’t have the heart to deny him, not when he knew firsthand how important a connection with horses could be. “On one condition.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve gotta keep yer voice soft, like this,” he demonstrated. “And when you reach out to touch ‘im, you’ve gotta move slowly and gently, like this.” Kieran extended his hand until he was rubbing Old Boy’s nose. The horse gave a pleased nicker.

Jack wore a huge smile. “Okay. Will you lift me up?”

This could end so badly if someone caught them, but… Kieran nodded and hoisted the boy up, hugging him around his waist, so he was level with Old Boy’s head. It had been a while since he’d used those muscles to lift heavy things, and he could feel the strain. “Nice and gentle now. Don’t scare ‘im…”

Jack reached out at turtle-speed, heeding Kieran’s warnings. “Hi Old Boy. You’re a good boy. You wanna be petted?” Nice and quiet, just as he’d instructed. Finally, his small hand met the velvety-soft nose of the horse. Instead of rubbing, he just let it rest there, soaking it in. Kieran wondered about the expression on his face, being unable to see, but all of the boy’s body language spoke a kind of wonder.

Finally, he reached his limits. “I’m sorry, Jack, but I can’t hold ya much longer. Time to come down.”

“Okay.” He was disappointed, but he did withdraw his hand so Kieran could ease him back to the ground with the last of his strength. Damn was he out of shape after spending that week doing nothing…

Before they could say anything, a strong, female voice carried over to where they were. “Jaaaaack? Where are you?”

“Oh, that’s Mommy. I guess I have to go now. Bye KEE-ren. Thanks for letting me pet Old Boy.” That said, he scampered away, leaving Kieran to blink in confusion. Had he just…earned the kid’s acceptance? He looked to Old Boy, who snorted and pawed the ground, as if demanding more attention. Kieran took up the brush and resumed his work, lost in thought. If only it were so easy to sway adults! Well, at least he wouldn’t have to worry about any more pebbles nailing him in the back…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being a good boy, Old Boy.


	3. Tennessee Walker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary-Beth helps Kieran get acquainted with the people (and more importantly, horses) of the camp. Then, they get to Arthur's horse and learn something surprising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly self-indulgent to explain the name of Arthur's horse in my universe, but it ended up having a cute angle with Mary-Beth and Kieran, so that was a bonus.

“All right, time for your quiz!” Mary-Beth informed him with a bright smile on her face, her hands clasped behind her back. With most of the others in the camp, she’d worry about bothering them, but she was confident Kieran would not mind stopping what he was doing. She was, as far as she knew, the only one really talking to him.

Kieran looked up in surprise. He had been so focused on inspecting and scraping the hooves of his newest charge that he hadn’t realized she’d approached. Fortunately, he’d been able to keep his reaction subdued so as not to spook him; despite his jumpy personality, calmness came as an instinct whenever a horse was nearby. “Quiz? On the names, right? B-but I didn’t practice none…”

“So? We’re going to find out how much you remember. See if you’ve made progress. It’s been an entire day and a half since you started working for the gang.”

Kieran gently released the hoof and gave the horse a reassuring pat on the neck before standing and stretching. “I’ll do my best, Miss Mary-Beth.”

“All right. Start with that big brown one by the tree,” she pointed.

“Well, that’s easy. Brown Jack. Belongs to that big, scary feller with the beard.”

“Bill.”

“Right, sure,” Kieran waved, not really caring to remember his name. Bill weirded him out. It was always hardest to fall asleep when he knew Bill was on watch, because it just felt like he was going to do something horrible to him while he slept. “And what kinda breed is he?”

“Oh, I don’t know any of that.”

“He’s an Ardennes. You got it?”

Mary-Beth looked confused. “Wait, you’re not asking me, you’re telling me?”

“That’s right.” For the first time since she’d met him, a look she could call playful crossed his features. It shocked her a little, seeing the flicker of a personality in an otherwise anxious and withdrawn man. “The gang wouldn’t get too far without these guys. Y’all should know more about ‘em. What kind was this?”

Mary-Beth knitted her brow. “Ar-dennis?”

Kieran actually grinned. “Close enough. So, what’s next?” All nerves about this challenge, it seemed, had flown out the window.

Mary-Beth pointed to a tan one grazing near Brown Jack. Its cream-colored tail seemed to be constantly flicking back and forth. “Him?”

“Ennis.” He wrinkled his nose. “It’s gotta be an Irish name. Belongs to that really loud kid with the strong accent you folks rescued the other day. Sean?”

“That’s right,” she smiled.

“Same energy. Saaaaame energy. So, Ennis here is an American Standardbred.”

“Standardbred? That’s kind of a boring name for a breed…”

“Easier to remember than Ardennes, though.”

“Hmm, true.”

They went on like this for some time, Kieran nailing each horse’s name and getting about half of the owners’ names; he claimed he had nothing better to do than observe while tied to that stump, so he’d gotten real familiar with the people that spent a lot of time in the camp. Meanwhile, Mary-Beth played with the names of the different breeds, letting them roll off her tongue until they sounded like actual words. She wasn’t nearly as confident about remembering them tomorrow as Kieran was with the names today.

Finally, he reached over and scratched the nearest horse’s ear. “What about this one? He wasn’t here when ya did introductions yesterday.”

“Oh, that’s right, Arthur got back later. That’s Tennessee Walker.”

Kieran blinked. “How’d ya know that? Ya didn’t know any other breeds.”

Now it was Mary-Beth’s turn to be surprised. “What do you mean? That’s his name.”

“Woah now, let me get this straight,” he clarified, holding up his hands. “The horse is named…Tennessee Walker. Like, when he calls for him, that’s what he says?”

“That’s right. Why is that so weird?”

“Yeah, ya gotta problem with my horse’s name, boy?”

Horse or no horse, Kieran practically jumped out of his boots when Arthur Morgan’s voice boomed from behind him. Mary-Beth could actually see the confident, playful Kieran she’d just discovered dive under the nearest rock. “M-m-mister Arthur?” he stammered, backing away from the horse he had been petting. Arthur’s horse. “I’m just…just confused is all.”

“I can tell,” Arthur frowned, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. “Can’t say it surprises me neither.”

“It’s just that yer horse is a Tennessee Walker. That you named ‘Tennessee Walker.’ That would be like naming your Appaloosa ‘Appaloosa’ or your Belgian Draft Horse ‘Belgian Draft Horse’!”

“Except it ain’t like that at all. Tennessee Walker is a proper outlaw name. Plenty o’ folks named Tennessee an’ Walker. Ain’t never heard o’ nobody named Appaloosa. That’s just stupid.”

Mary-Beth didn’t shrink away at all; in fact she only seemed to grow more curious. “I had no idea! Did you actually know that when you named him, Arthur?”

“Of course I did,” Arthur scoffed, reaching to give a few affectionate pats to his steed’s flanks. “As soon as I heard what kinda horse he was, I knew it was the perfect name.”

Kieran didn’t look any more convinced by this, but he was NOT going to push it. “So, do ya just call ‘im ‘Tennessee’ for short?”

“That’s right, boy.” Arthur began to walk away.

“Wait, Mister Arthur! I cleaned up Tennessee’s hooves for ya!”

He didn’t look back. “Good. Glad to see you’re earnin’ yer keep ‘round here, O’Driscoll. Also, that you’re actually competent at somethin’.”

Kieran sighed as he watched Arthur’s retreating back. He resigned himself to reach for the brush. Tennessee still had some tangles in his mane.

Mary-Beth noticed how discouraged he seemed. “Hey, Kieran, you do know that was as close to a compliment as Arthur’s gonna give, right?”

He raised his eyebrows skeptically. “That was s’posed to be a compliment?”

“You’ll get used to it after a while. Arthur’s kind of a grump, but once you know what to expect, you’ll find his soft spots.”

“Is that why he don’t scare ya none?”

Mary-Beth planted her hands on her hips. “That’s right. He’s actually not scary at all. Trust me.”

“If ya say so, Miss Mary-Beth…”

She really wanted to see him return to the Kieran he had been a few minutes ago, so she decided to offer herself as bait. “Okay, time for you to quiz me now!”

The young man stared. “Really?”

“Really.”

Just as she’d hoped, this earned a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is 100% based on my experiences when I first fired up the game. I knew nothing about horse breeds, and was convinced the name that flashed when I locked on my horse was his actual name and not the type of horse he was. Seemed legit at the time. Actually, still does.


	4. Razor's Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know anything about period-accurate shaving technique, so I appologize now if some part of this doesn't make sense.
> 
> "That which is loved is always beautiful." - Norweigan Proverb  
The way I read it, a person makes things beautiful through love, sees things as beautiful that they love. The opposite is also true: that which is neglected is "ugly", like stray dogs and canon RDR2 Kieran...

For whatever reason, Arthur had a fixation with cleanliness. It was an unusual preference for an outlaw, who spent so much time covered in blood and dirt and sweat, but he made sure he at least washed his face every evening and had a clean shirt every morning. Hell, the girl at the hotel baths in Valentine was on a first name basis with him at this point. Maybe it was because being dirty reminded him of life before Dutch, back when he was wild and illiterate. He may not be a good man, but he was at least a gentleman.

That preference was why the O’Driscoll boy was driving him crazy. Well, one of the ways.

Since the moment he’d laid eyes on him, the kid had been a complete mess. Sure, tending to horses included its fair share of grime, he could appreciate that. But Christ, his HAIR. It was so greasy he was loathe to come into contact with it. Even Uncle had better hygiene than that! And the beard? Ugh, did the boy even know what a shaving razor was? Or was he just so preoccupied with not being called a baby that he kept it just to prove his age no matter how scraggly it turned out? It was so oddly formed that it was a distraction of the worst kind. If he was going to be allowed around camp, he was going to have to do something about it.

Arthur strolled up to him one morning as he struggled with a giant bale of hay. He’d finally eaten a bit after his trial by fire, but his slender frame was not helping his cause. Even as mean as he could be, Arthur waited until after he set the bale down before scaring him with his voice. “O’Driscoll!”

“I ain’t an O’Driscoll!” came the automatic reply as he turned around. When he saw who he was addressing, his eyes widened with regret for his tone. “I mean, sir, I’m a Van der Linde now. You said so.”

“I did. And on that subject, I was comin’ over here to tell you that you’ve gotta look the part a bit better. O’Driscolls may be slobs, but Van der Lindes are not. Get acquainted with some soap by the end of the day, boy. And for God’s sake, do somethin’ about that beard!”

Kieran’s face turned a bright shade of red, and his eyes instantly fell to study the worn toes of his boots. “I-I’m sorry sir. It’s just that I…I mean, that is…”

“Spit it out, boy!” Arthur growled, losing his patience. It was a common occurrence whenever he spoke to the kid.

“I ain’t got any soap…” he whispered, looking powerfully ashamed.

Arthur’s brows furrowed. “O’Driscoll never gave ya any soap?”

“I slept with the horses and ate his scraps. When somebody got killed, I was allowed to take their extra clothes.” He looked as if he wanted to disappear. “I ain’t got no brush or razor neither.”

“Hmmm.” Arthur searched for the right words to that. Even his cold outlaw heart was feeling a slight amount of pity. That explained why Kieran’s clothes never seemed to fit him, like they were two sizes too big. Explained a lot of other things too. “Well,” he finally decided, “I was heading into town anyhow. I’ll just have to pick some up for you. We got standards for our men, from gunslingers to stableboys. Van der Lindes ain’t savages.”

Kieran dared to look up, just to see if Arthur was messing with him, like everyone else did. He wasn’t smiling, and looked dead serious as ever as his intense blue eyes bore into him. “Th-thank you Mister Morgan! I promise I’ll get cleaned up as soon as I can!”

“And you can start with the beard. I’ve got enough stuff to get ya started in front of my tent. Take the damn thing down to the stubble and start the blasted thing over. If anyone gives ya crap, tell ‘em it was on my orders.”

Kieran opened his mouth, seemingly to protest, but just as quickly shut it. Arthur thought it was to complain until he saw the flush return to his cheeks and the way his eyes studied the dirt again.

“What else is wrong, boy?”

“Y-you’ll think it’s stupid…” he mumbled.

“I think most things that come out o’ yer mouth are stupid. Just say it.”

The next words were barely audible. “I don’t know how.” If he could have sunk into the ground, Arthur could tell he would have by this point.

“Don’t know how?”

“Ain’t never had nobody to show me…” Kieran was biting his dry lip now.

At his words, a memory surfaced in Arthur’s mind. Sixteen-year-old Arthur had finally sprouted his first whiskers, and when Dutch and Hosea noticed, they’d slapped him on the back and told him he was getting to be a man. After the whiskers filled in a bit more and started looking more unruly than rugged, they brought him over and had him watch as they shaved themselves clean, applying the cream and carefully running the razor over their skin. After Arthur watched, Dutch had helped guide his hand as he took the first few strokes, making sure he didn’t cut himself and showing him just the right amount of pressure to use. When he tried for himself and nicked himself, Hosea had been there to dab the tiny cut and catch the blood. It hadn’t been perfect, but he grinned when he was finished. He was finally a man just like Dutch and Hosea.

Arthur blinked when Kieran shuffled anxiously, bringing him back to the moment. Clearly, he wanted to be dismissed but was being held in suspense. The words came out before he even realized he was uttering them. “Then git over here, boy. I’m only gonna show you once.” He spun around and started walking towards his tent without looking back. He couldn’t without feeling embarrassed. Since when was Arthur Morgan any kind of nurturer?

By the time he had his supplies pulled out, Kieran had scampered over with eyes wide. “Sit,” he instructed, nodding to the crate at the end of his tent. The boy obeyed in record time, gripping the seams of his baggy pants nervously. “First off, it’s way too long to just take a razor to it; you’d hafta trim it with a scissors first. Normally you’d shape it the way you want, but seein’ as we’re gonna take the whole thing off, don’t waste yer time, just get snippin’.” He held out the scissors, which Kieran took tentatively. 

It was hard to work with Arthur staring at him like that, but he didn’t want to disappoint him when he was offering his help. There was no bittersweet regret as chunks of hair started to fall in his eagerness. He hadn’t actually liked looking like that, after all. He’d felt gross and hated it the entire time, but that was part of living life focused only on surviving another day. His eyes found the mirror, and when he saw the awkward in-between state of his trim, he froze. “You ain’t gonna leave me like this are ya, Mister Morgan?” 

Arthur stared at the frantic outburst, coming seemingly from nowhere. “Why the hell would I do that? I’m the one that wanted you to look presentable!”

“Not even to get a laugh?” he added, quieter this time. “As I walk around lookin’ even more like a fool?”

Upon initially meeting Kieran, Arthur had decided the boy was annoyingly paranoid and high-strung. That much hadn’t actually changed, even after the incident at Six-Point. What had changed was how Arthur was looking at it all of a sudden. It was a bit less annoying, and a bit more saddening. “That sounds more like somethin’ Bill would do. Not me.”

“Oh. Okay.” Seemingly satisfied, he finished the job. It sure wasn’t even, but it was good enough to start with the razor. “Okay?” He looked back, searching for approval, and something about it resonated with Arthur like a punch to the gut.

“Would be shit if you were gonna leave it that length, but for taking the whole thing off it’ll do. Now, you gotta put the shavin’ cream on. Like everywhere you got hair that’s comin’ off. Don’t forget yer neck, too.” He held out his container of half-used shaving cream and waited patiently for Kieran to lather it all over. It looked comical, and it was hard not to laugh. He was certain the boy would take that the wrong way.

“Now…”

“What the hell are ya doin’ Arthur? Shavin’ a dog?” Bill had just happened to pass by, and being the sort of man he was, couldn’t do so without comment, especially where Kieran was concerned. It also alerted Arthur to the fact that several members of the camp were not-so-subtly stealing glances in their direction. There was only one good answer to this.

Arthur took up his shaving razor, studied it for a second, and then threw it with just the right rotation and power that it lodged itself into the side of the wagon right past Bill’s head. The big man gaped. “Oops, looks like I slipped there, Bill. You mind gettin’ that for me?”

“S-sure thing, Arthur.” He stumbled to retrieve it and set it in Arthur’s hand under the leader’s intense gaze.

“Thanks, Bill. Better sharpen it, I probably dulled the blade with my clumsy little stunt there.” He pulled out the whetstone and did just that while continuing to stare at Bill. “You just let me know if you need a shave. I’d be more than happy to oblige…”

“I…I like this beard, thanks.” Before Arthur could add anything else, he was gone fast as the lumbering fellow could move.

“Now that that’s done…” He paused when he heard a new sound. It was soft, barely there, but it was coming from Kieran. It was…laughter? Like he was holding it in, tight to his chest. This was unheard of for Kieran Duffy. “Was that funny boy?” 

Just as quickly as it had started, it stopped. “N-no sir.”

“Well damn. It was supposed to be.” As Kieran gaped in shock, Arthur moved the razor to his neck. “Ya can’t start in the middle, gotta start top or bottom.” He tilted the mirror a bit. “Now, watch real close in the mirror how I do it, and pay attention to how much pressure I’m…are you shakin’?”

“Sh-sh-shakin’? No…” the boy lied.

“Do’t be an idiot, of course ya are. What, do ya think after everythin’ this is how I’d choose to kill ya? With a shavin’ razor?”

When he bit his lip, Arthur took that for a yes. Well, he probably had experiences with knives against his throat too. Just add it to the pile of trauma that made him a jumpy human being. “Let me just say, I wouldn’t have wasted the time watchin’ ya trim yer beard if I was just gonna slit yer throat. One bullet between yer eyes woulda sufficed, and then I’da had time for my coffee. Now RELAX. Ya really are gonna get cut if you can’t hold still.”

This seemed to reassure him, so finally Arthur was able to begin his work. It was weird. He’d never shaved anybody else. In the back of his mind, he worried that he would actually cut Kieran, cementing his fear of him and making him impossible to deal with in the future. Slow, smooth, even strokes as the cream and hair accumulated. “When ya get to yer mouth, you’ve gotta pull yer lip taut, like you’re bitin’ yer top lip. Please don’t make me demonstrate…” For all the things he was, Kieran was no idiot, and he picked up the idea from the vague description easily enough. “Same with the bottom now…” And he did, feeling the glide of the blade right against his skin. Firm, but not too heavy. He thought he could probably get the hang of it.

After several minutes, there was only the vaguest hints of residue left. Golly, his face felt so strange… When Arthur handed him a towel, he quickly wiped off the remnants, startled by the feel of material against the newly-exposed skin. How many years had it been?

It was as if Arthur could read his mind. “Say, how old are ya, boy?”

“Nineteen,” he answered.

“So about three years without a shave and that was all ya could muster. Looks like you’ll never catch up to Bill.” Arthur gave a chuckle. “Well, next time you’re on yer own, Kieran Duffy. I hope you paid very close attention, because I ain’t gonna do that again.”

“Yessir, of course sir.”

“Good. Now back to the horses. I’ll drop off yer supplies later this evenin’ when I get back.”

“Th-thank you sir!” Arthur noticed with amusement that he couldn’t stop touching his face, couldn’t get over the feeling of being clean-shaven. “I mean it, that…” His hands fell to his sides, clenching tightly. “That’s the nicest thing anybody’s done for me since I got kicked outta the stables. Well, exceptin’ for Mary-Beth bringin’ me that water. But, you know.” Before he could bobble anymore, he shot off like a bullet, the bright red hue of embarrassment visible all over. He may have looked different, but he definitely still acted the same.

“So, what was that all about?” Arthur jumped at the sound of Hosea’s voice as the older man came up behind him.

“Hmph.” He closed his eyes. “Remember when you and Dutch taught me how to shave?”

A knowing smile grew across Hosea’s face. His reached over and squeezed Arthur’s shoulder. “I’ll never forget. And he won’t forget what you did either.”

“Damn.” Arthur reached for a cigarette. “I’ll have to give the little shit amnesia then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You cannot convince me that this "man of dubious personal hygiene" (Rockstar's actual character description of Kieran) was that way by choice. You be the lowest of the low in a blood-thirsty gang and see if all your basic needs get met. And sadly, in canon the Van der Linde gang didn't do much better by him. Not on my watch.


	5. The Count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Kieran's ability to ride is questioned, he gets a bit more aggressive than normal. Oh, he'll show them all right, and he'll do it with The Count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I've had to do a lot of research about horses to do these one-shots with Kieran (and trust me, I am assuming there is still a lot I'm not one hundred percent accurate on, but I did my best).
> 
> Inspired by two tumblr posts, one about how the Count is probably a stallion and that is why he is such a devil, and two about how Kieran does actually talk back in certain situations but this tends to get overlooked in the fandom.
> 
> Friendly reminder that this is based in my AU where Dutch dies in Blackwater, hence his horse being up for grabs. I'm not entirely sure how Branwen shows up in the game, but I have an idea for the AU, it just hasn't come up in the timeline yet.

Kieran was happily minding his own business as usual, content to distribute small portions of oats among the hard-working horses that needed more nutrition than simple grass. At each stop, he gave the creatures affectionate pats as they dug in. They largely ignored him, focused on eating their special rations, but it was better that than outright rejecting his presence, as most of the human camp members were wont to do… This was why horses were better than people: they tolerated him.

Then came a snide voice, right on cue as if to illustrate his point. “I bet you don’t even know how to properly ride a horse, do you O’Driscoll?”

Kieran nearly groaned out loud. Not Javier again… For whatever reason, that man would not give him a chance! He’d already been given a snake-eyed warning not to try anything, and had the ashes of Javier’s cigarette flicked at him with pure contempt. Such a thing coming from Sadie, he would be able to understand, but as far as he knew, the Mexican had no direct experiences with O’Driscolls that would make him feel such a strong hatred. Regardless, it didn’t stop him from being one of his biggest tormentors in the camp. Had he really gone out of his way to find him over here and ruin his morning?

“One, I ain’t an O’Driscoll, and two…” Kieran took a deep breath. Perhaps it was not wise, but despite the punishing course of his life, he was determined to guard the tiny shard of pride he still had hidden away. Javier had just called that into question, and it would not be ignored. “I ride damn well.”

Javier’s scoff made it clear what he felt about that statement. “Stable hands don’t ride, pendejo, they scoop shit, which is exactly why it’s the job for an O’Driscoll.”

“Well, didya ever think I might wanna train horses too?” Kieran could feel the irritation flaring despite his logic begging for him to calm down; picking fights was a maladaptive behavior for sure, especially considering the man before him would likely take no small amount of pleasure in knifing him.

“Train horses? Who’d listen to the likes of you?”

“Any one of these horses!” he declared loudly with a grand gesture. Shit, shit, shit, this was bad… Why had he done that?

The pair were interrupted by an amused chuckle. When they spun around, they found Arthur watching as he leaned against the hitching post. “So show us what ya can do, boy, don’t just talk!”

“Okaaaaay,” he acquiesced. No backing out now that he’d run his mouth off, not that he wanted to. Though he was terrified of looking like a fool and further humiliating himself in front of a group that already mocked him incessantly, he was eager to prove himself. Riding was one of the few things he felt confident in. “What do ya wanna see?”

Arthur scratched his stubble-covered chin. “We’ll set up a few stakes. Ride between each of ‘em and make it back in under a minute. Speed an’ precision. For someone who rides ‘damn well’, shouldn’t be a problem.”

“On one condition.” He held out a finger, awed by how nervy he was in front of Arthur Morgan himself. “Considerin’ I ain’t got a horse, I need one evenin’ to get whichever horse I’m takin’ accustomed to me and how I handle ‘em.”

Arthur briefly considered the proposal. “Fair enough. As for the horse, take yer pick.”

“Aw come on, Arthur, that’s no fun! Make ‘im ride The C-”

Arthur interrupted Javier with a dismissive wave. “Naw, let’s not stack the deck too bad. Meet here tomorrow mornin’ then, ready to ride. You’d better believe the entire camp will be watching.”

Those words should have terrified him, but for whatever reason it sent an electric thrill through him. They would be watching HIM. Nobody ever paid attention to him! This would be his big chance! As Arthur and Javier sauntered back into camp, his green eyes scanned the herd, looking for just the horse to help him make the best impression…

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Arthur hadn’t lied; everyone in camp right down to little Jack had assembled near the grazing area the next morning, eager to see how this challenge would play out. Word must have really spread like wildfire yesterday. By all rights, he should have been exhausted; it had been a long night of working with his chosen horse, as he hadn’t wanted to leave anything to chance. Instead, he could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, leaving him fully alert. Part of him wondered if he’d gotten over-confident, biting off more than he could chew with his choice. No, no nerves, for the horse’s sake. 

“All right boy,” Arthur began, stepping forward from the group. “Which horse you gonna take?”

Every eye was on him as he walked over to where a regal, white Arabian was grazing. “I’m takin’ The Count.”

The group came alive with murmurs and giggles. The gunmen in particular were jabbing each other and grinning. He also noticed Mary-Beth frantically mouthing something to him, but he wasn’t much for lip-reading, so he just smiled as he took the reins in hand. “Where we goin’?”

Arthur was clearly trying hard to keep a straight face upon hearing his decision. “Just down the rise here. Once you’re saddled up and ready to go, we’ll start timin’.” Arthur withdrew a pocket watch from his pocket. “Real official, no cheatin’.”

“’kay.” As he began the process of putting the saddle on, he noticed Hosea pull Arthur aside and whisper something in his ear. The older man looked concerned, but Arthur didn’t seem to make much of it. He wondered what it could be about.

Finally, it was time to mount. The Count was a tall horse, but Kieran was light-weight and full of lean muscle. He easily hoisted himself up on the stirrup and swung his other leg over.

“Go!”

Arthur’s sharp voice made the Count nervous, causing the Arabian to rear-up and neigh loudly. He winced as he remembered all the times he’d tried to ride him only to be thrown off in a similar manner. Most members of the gang held similar memories. Kieran was simply going to be the next victim, as they all knew he’d be the moment he’d declared his mount’s name. Bad luck to make that choice. Should they offer him a redo?

But contrary to expectation, Kieran did not fall off. In fact, he didn’t even look concerned. They had no idea that he’d been practicing just this technique, able to anticipate how the horse would react and how best to remain in the saddle. There were bruises to prove his efforts, but it had been worth it. In all honesty, he’d planned on having The Count rear up before starting just to fake out his audience, but this worked too. He’d simply have to calm down the animal before proceeding.

“Easy, boy,” he murmured softly, tugging back gently on the reins. “Let’s go.” With a click of his tongue and a nudge of encouragement from his spur-less heels, he and The Count were off.

This particular horse was strong-willed, but Kieran had one thing going in his favor by choosing him: he’d been working with him since his first day at camp. With the other horses, the ones that had owners, he hadn’t dared to ride them. The Count was different. When Mary-Beth introduced him, she’d mentioned that his owner was killed, and Kieran felt bad that he had no one to take him out riding. Surely no one would be mad if he tried to give the poor horse some exercise… It had gone poorly at first, though thankfully he only ever tried to work with The Count at night after everyone else was asleep. Kieran was determined, though, and armed with plenty of patience, focus, and a few apples he’d opted to feed the horse instead of eating himself. The first time The Count had accepted him on his back, he’d felt such a thrill of victory that it was hard not to holler so the whole camp could hear him.

It still wasn’t perfect despite his strides. Getting The Count to respond to obstacles proved difficult when they’d practiced last night. To be honest, the Arabian would do far better in a competition of speed and endurance than precise handling, though he was more than capable. Even now, the high-strung animal barely cleared the first set of stakes. “Take yer time,” he muttered, leaning back. The Count snorted as he grudgingly took his cue from his rider’s tone and posture, and the next set of stakes went much better.

The challenge was over before he knew it, as lost in his thoughts as he had been. Of course he’d finished in time; he’d been counting seconds from the moment he connected with the saddle. “What’s yer watch got to say ‘bout that?” There was no keeping the grin from his face.

Arthur remained as dumbfounded as he had been from the moment Kieran had passed the first set of stakes. His eyes darted down to the stopwatch, but in all honesty, he’d forgotten to mark the time thanks to his shock. “Uhh…ya pass.”

“Hell yeah I did, with seven seconds to spare. Coulda been ten, but you spooked The Count at the beginning there.” He finally let his eyes wander over the crowd. Jack fairly bounced around in his excitement for the display, chattering to his mother and pointing at Old Boy. Probably something about wanting to ride now, poor Abigail. Lenny was shrugging good naturedly as he handed over…money?...to Charles. In fact, everyone was handing Charles money, which he accepted with a smug satisfaction. Had they been gambling on this? Bill in particular was unhappy, having thrown his hat to the dust. Tilly, Karen, and Mary-Beth were whooping and hollering, and it struck him that this was the first time in his life anyone was cheering for HIM. Mary-Beth in particular seemed to beam with pride, filling him with warmth. 

Then, there was Arthur. He was looking at him strangely. If he had to put it into words, it was as if…he was seeing something in him that he approved of. A lot. And that he didn’t know how to process the feeling. He threw up his hands. “I can admit it, boy, you do ride damn well. Better than me, fo’ sure.”

“Jus’ curious, Mister Arthur, but why do ya keep a stallion as a ridin’ horse? They’re ornery as all get out and real hard to handle.”

His eyes widened further. “You knew The Count was…difficult?”

Kieran snorted. “It wasn’t hard to tell by lookin’. I’m guessin’ that’s why y’all were whisperin’ when I picked ‘im out. He musta thrown the whole lot o’ ya at one point or another.”

“Ya knew that, but ya still picked ‘im?”

“Well…yeah. Just because I could, I reckon.”

Finally, the leader of the gang slapped his leg with a hearty laugh. “Shit, boy, you and The Count both got balls!”

The small shard off pride he’d guarded so closely began to grow into something just a bit bigger. “Can I do one more thing?”

“What’s that?”

“Let ‘im run?”

Arthur shrugged. “Why the hell not. If ya think you can do it, you’ve shown you can handle ‘im.”

Without another word, Kieran turned The Count around and slowly picked up speed until they emerged from the undergrowth and reached the plains. Then, he leaned forward. “Run free, boy. Ya earned it.”

He never considered that Arthur, as well as most of the others, were still watching as they fairly flew across the vast open expanse, or that they heard the way the horse whinnied and the boy hollered, both equally joyful, as if some kind of shackles had been removed. It was like seeing a completely different person, in all the best ways possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sniffs* I love seeing my boy so happy!


	6. A Van Der Linde Christmas Eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kieran hasn't celebrated Christmas since his parents died, but he finds himself thrown into the traditions of the Van der Linde gang as the season approaches. Perhaps the hardest part of all is figuring out what to give the man who gave him another shot at life. When all is said and done, there's a huge surprise waiting for him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is simply the fluffiest of fluff. Like, I may have gotten teary-eyed writing parts of this. Don't judge me.

As Kieran did his daily chores, he noticed the group of girls giggling in a huddle, off to the side where Grimshaw wouldn’t catch them. They did that often, actually, but unlike with the other men of the camp, they had no issue with him picking up bits and pieces of their conversations as they allowed him to drift in close. Sometimes they even roped him into joining them. Honestly, they were the first ones to warm up to him when he first arrived.

Today, he really just wanted to get his chores done and keep moving; the frost was heavy, and he could see his breath. Even his new coat wasn’t keeping all the cold out. Then, he heard a magical word that he hadn’t heard in years drifting over to where he worked: Christmas. It conjured thoughts of church bells and candles, cookies and stockings, all of which were dredged up from a past so distant they were hazy in the fog. He changed his trajectory until he was right beside them. “Mornin’ ladies.”

“Oh, hey there Kieran,” Tilly greeted with a smile. “Say, we were just talking about how Christmas is coming up real soon. You get anything for Mary-Beth yet?”

Tilly and Karen were so busy giggling as Mary-Beth blushed that they thankfully didn’t notice Kieran’s look of horror. Christmas gifts. Right, that was a thing people did, wasn’t it? His parents never had much, but he still remembered getting a small stick of candy or a new pair of socks after sitting through an impossibly-long mass. Once they were gone, though, the tradition died with them. The army didn’t care about giving gifts, and most of his fellow soldiers were gone on leave anyhow to spend the holiday with their families. His first gang had always shared what they got evenly all the time, so specifically giving each other gifts felt unnecessary. And of course Colm O’Driscoll was the exact opposite of Christmas spirit; all he’d give his underlings was a smack upside the head. 

Did he know that Christmas was even coming? Nope, he had no sense of dates. Did he have a gift for Mary-Beth, or anyone else for that matter? Definitely not. Oh no…

“Don’t worry about it, Kieran.” Mary-Beth must have noticed his distress as she waved her friend’s words away. “It’ll be nice just to have us all together. And Pearson always goes all-out with the food. You’ll have so many sweets you’ll get sick!”

“Or, so much alcohol you’ll get sick!” Karen amended. “You know those boys are always lookin’ for an excuse to get wasted.”

“You’re one to talk, Karen,” Tilly pointed out, playfully sticking out her tongue.

The conversation shifted away, and he was grateful they’d been kind about it, but it still bothered him. He certainly wasn’t going to worry about getting presents for everyone, but Mary-Beth was his girl now, so it would be awfully underachieving not to have a gift for her! And what about Arthur, who’d been looking out for him? The girls who were so kind? And Pearson who always made sure he was remembering to eat? Then, the most important realization of all: Jack! Kieran was at a loss for how he could manage to get shopping, if he even had enough money saved from Six-Point Cabin to buy for everyone! This would require a Christmas miracle…

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

“Umm, excuse me, Charles?”

Charles was only intimidating due to his size and serious demeanor, Kieran knew that, but he couldn’t help but feel meek anyhow. “Hey there, Kieran. What’s up?”

“Well, uh, there ain’t no easy way to put this…” He scratched his head nervously. “I can’t exactly leave camp on my own because of, you know… But Christmas is comin’ and I need to get some gifts. I was hopin’ if you weren’t too busy, you might be able to come with me?”

“Just into Valentine here?” Charles gestured with his thumb down the slope to the north.

“That’s the thing… I was thinkin’ more like up into the Grizzlies.”

Now Charles’s eyebrows shot up. “What in the world are you planning to give?”

“I don’t know what else to get fer Arthur that would be worth anything to ‘im, all I know is horses. When we were camped up there, I saw some herds of Arabians near the lake. Gorgeous, with white coats that made ‘em look like snow spirits or somethin’.” Kieran’s voice grew dreamy at the memory. “I know Arthur loves Tennessee, but he could get more speed and endurance from one of those. And if he doesn’t like it, he could sell it for a lot o’ cash. The only problem is me gettin’ up there. I know I could find and tame one.”

“I mean, I will go if you convince Arthur. It would be nice to get out of camp for a while, get some peace, but how are you going to justify taking off for so long?”

Kieran’s shoulders slumped. “I could ask ‘im for permission to look for Branwen. It’s been so long since I left ‘im up there but maybe he’s still out there… And maybe while we’re looking for an Arabian we might find ‘im…”

Charles could piece together that Branwen must be a horse. It was surprising that someone so low on the totem pole even had a horse, but then again Kieran had mentioned being in a gang prior. Probably got it then. And knowing Kieran, that horse was probably his best friend. “Well, I’ll get a bag packed while you talk to Arthur. I give us a day there and a day back.”

“Thank you Charles! Thank you so much!” Kieran was bouncing around excitedly now. “And if we have a little time, can we stop at a store?”

“Sure. Now, you’d better wipe that grin off your face or Arthur is never going to believe you are looking for your lost horse.”

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

A week came and went since Kieran and Charles had returned from their trip. The horse Kieran had steered away from the herd and calmed was a dazzling white color with a silver mane and tail and a bit of gray along the muzzle. Her once wild brown eyes were now serene after a long session of careful, gentle taming (he was very glad for the powdery snow every time he was thrown off). Many, many carrots had been used as bribery as well; thank goodness Charles had pointed out some wild carrots along the way. Once they returned, there was an additional problem: it was not exactly easy to hide a horse. Arthur rarely came and went from the north side of the ridge, and people generally didn’t bat an eye at a strange horse grazing, but this one certainly stuck out. Observant little Jack had been the one to notice, though thankfully he could be convinced to keep a secret for Uncle Arthur.

Finally, the evening arrived. He wouldn’t have known it except Reverend Swanson was trying to corral the entire gang over evening stew so he could read them the Bible passage about Jesus’s birth. A few people listened, anyways, including him and Mary-Beth. Parts of the story stuck out to him, triggering flashbacks to the mass he’d attended as a little boy, and the way his parents had had to explain what the oddly-dressed man in front was saying in his weird language. Parts about angels and shepherds and this baby who was God in human form being born surrounded by animals. He liked that detail. Too bad there were no horses, because his family was poor. Well, that was a nice detail too. Jesus seemed so different than the people in the fancy robes and pointy hats he remembered from church, and he much preferred it.

After Swanson had done his best to share the good news to the heathens, there was some unspoken command and everyone formed a circle around the main campfire. This never happened normally, and several logs and chairs had to be pulled over so everyone had room. Still, it was a tight fit. Kieran as glad that if he had to be squashed on the end of a log with someone, it was Mary-Beth. He had no idea what to expect next.

“So, now that SOME of us have heard the scripture,” Hosea began with a grin, “it’s time to do our traditional one gift on Christmas Eve. Of course, no one is forced to participate, but each member will be limited to ONE gift to give. Anybody want to go first?” Kieran’s hand shot up. He was tired of trying to keep an entire horse a secret. It certainly seemed to surprise the others. “All right then Kieran, who’s your gift for?”

“Hold on, I gotta go get it. I didn’t know we were doin’ this gift-givin’ thing now!” It was a little embarrassing, with everyone watching, so he bolted for the edge of the camp where the Arabian was waiting.

“WAIT!”

Kieran skidded to a stop at Arthur’s loud, but panicked outburst. He didn’t sound angry at least. “What’s the matter, Arthur?”

Arthur scratched his head sheepishly. “You tellin’ me yer gift is over there? What did you do, hide it in a tree?”

“No, but it is over there,” he pointed, very confused.

Arthur just folded his arms. “You can’t get it yet.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause I…also hid somethin’ over there.”

The pair stared at each other in silence. Finally Kieran squeaked “Ya got ME somethin’?”

“We all got you something, Kieran,” Hosea amended, standing. “Maybe we should all just go over there and watch what happens.” As Kieran scanned the group in wide-eyed shock, he saw the girls grin mischievously, and Jack giggle behind his hands. Even Charles looked like he was finding it difficult to keep a straight face.

“Okaaaaaay…”

Mary-Beth jumped up and linked her arm in his. “Come on, let’s go!” She practically dragged him along, with the rest of the camp hot on their heels. Only Arthur went before them, leading the way.

It was dark, but Kieran couldn’t understand why instead of one horse silhouette, there were TWO. There hadn’t been two when he’d snuck off to feed the Arabian earlier. Before he could ask, Arthur lit his lantern and held it up to the one tethered to the right, revealing a flaxen-roan Tennessee Walker. 

He knew with only a glance. All the markings were the same. There was no way he’d ever forget the horse that had been his only friend for so long, and in the darkest times of his life. Kieran’s eyes watered instantly as he ran over and flung his arms around the animal’s neck, burying his face against him. It was a good thing Branwen had a similar gentle temperament, calm despite the deep emotions of his owner and in-tune with his actions. Everyone watching marveled at how well he was handling things. “Branwen! I can’t believe it’s really you! Christ!” Oh, he was full on crying now and he didn’t even care who saw it. For the moment, nobody could, as Branwen’s hair soaked up all the tears. They could only figure by his cracking voice and shaking shoulders. “I thought the wolves got ya! I thought I’d never see ya again, boy! I thought I’d lost ya forever! How did they find you?”

“Charles is a good tracker,” Arthur offered. “When Mary-Beth told us that horse I pulled ya from was actually yours, well, I just figured I oughtta find ‘im and bring ‘im back. That was two weeks ago.”

“And all of us chipped in to pay for boarding in Valentine so it would be a Christmas surprise,” Hosea added warmly.

“Oh my God, I…thank you! Thank you a thousand times! No, a million! This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten in my entire life!” He continued to just stand there, refusing to let go of his horse, who to its credit remained patient with this behavior.

Arthur finally cleared his throat. He’d predicted Kieran would be an emotional wreck, but he still wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. “You have no idea how hard it is to keep a goddamn horse a secret.”

Kieran pulled away from Branwen, face shining with tears. He roughly wiped his eyes, but kept on hand on Branwen, as if the horse would disappear if he let go. “Actually, I do. ‘Cause that one over there is for you!”

Now it was Arthur’s turn to be floored as he raised the lantern to take in the magnificent Arabian. His jaw actually dropped. “What the hell?! You got me a freakin’ white Arabian horse for Christmas?! Just like The Count?! Dutch paid over a thousand dollars for a horse like that!”

“Well, I sure didn’t buy ‘im,” Kieran asserted shyly. “When I said I was lookin’ for Branwen, that was only partially true. I was also tryin’ to find a horse to tame for ya.” He paused. “Wait a moment. You said you found Branwen two weeks ago. That means…Charles, you knew?”

Finally, the straight-faced outlaw smiled from his place in the back. “I’m good at playing along, if you couldn’t tell.”

Kieran whistled, impressed. “And here I was sayin’ how I was gonna look for Branwen while I was up there, and you pretended like you had no idea who that even was! Branwen was never even up there by the time we went!”

“Hey, can we get back to MY horse here?” Arthur interjected. “This is unreal.”

“Should I not have given it to you?” Arthur wasn’t saying anything affirming, and it was starting to worry him considerably.

“From anyone else, I’d say this is too much. But from you…” Finally, he burst out laughing. “This was probably the easiest gift for you to give, wasn’t it, Duffy? Luxury, and it didn’t even cost ya a thing!”

“I mean, I could have just gotten The Count trained up so you could ride ‘im, but ya seem to be traumatized by that horse,” Kieran shrugged with a smile.

“Well…” Arthur looked at the horse closer. “A girl. Then I’m namin’ her The Countess.” He reached out cautiously until his hand came to rest on her nose. He gave it a soft rub, earning a pleased nicker from the creature. “You’ll be quite the fine lady, wontcha girl? Why, I bet Kieran here will even braid yer hair.” He turned back and flashed a grin to the boy. “Am I wrong?”

“No sir.”

“Look, gentlemen, as lovely as this has all been, we should probably keep going with the gift exchange,” Hosea reminded.

“Why bother? These two just got HORSES for Christmas!” Bill grumbled.

“Hey! I wanted to get a present!” Jack was extremely unhappy with this idea.

Abigail quickly assured him she had one hidden in John’s tent she was going to give him, and so the others began to shuffle back to the campfire. Arthur and Kieran held back until they were alone. For Kieran, it was mostly so he could lead Branwen over to where the other horses were and get him acquainted with his new companions, but Arthur seemed to have something on his mind.

“Hey, boy, I gotta know somethin’.”

“Umm, yeah?” He began scratching Branwen behind the ear, already appreciating his therapeutic presence in nerve-wracking situations like this.

“You didn’t…I mean…” Arthur huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You didn’t go all out with The Countess just so I’d be nicer or somethin’, right? Like it wasn’t…I dunno, bribery or nothin’?”

Kieran blushed, opting to focus on Branwen. “You’ve helped me a lot, Arthur. Ya took me in, taught me how to shave and gave me soap, brought me some books so I could learn to read… I mean, ya even ask me how I’m doin’. I just wanted to show ya how much it means to me is all. It ain’t bribery, it’s thanks.”

Kieran couldn’t remember a time he had ever seen Arthur Morgan blush, but as he risked a glance, it was certainly happening now. “Well, I don’t suppose ya ever gave Colm so much as a sick Morgan.”

“Nope. Not even a package o’ stale crackers.”

They both chuckled before Arthur rested one of his big hands on Kieran’s head. “Thank ya, boy. I’ll take good care o’ her, I promise.” Before Kieran could process this new gesture (dare he say of affection?), Arthur withdrew his hand and began leading his new horse to the grazing area at the other end of camp. “Merry Christmas, Kieran.”

Standing alone with Branwen, Kieran felt his heart overflow with so much joy. There was no keeping the goofy smile from his face. He had his beloved horse back, nuzzling his arm searching for a treat even now. He had this entire group of people who had made it all possible, who offered him a place in their traditions. He had Arthur Morgan looking out for him, acknowledging him. And once he was done soaking up Branwen’s presence, he had Mary-Beth waiting for him with that sweet smile of hers.

From out of nowhere, a tune took hold inside of him. It was an old tune, from those same hazy memories of his past. They’d sung it at mass, but there was only one word he knew from that unintelligible language. “Gloria”. One word, but a long, soaring melody that matched every feeling he had in this moment. Gloria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is how I explained Branwen arriving at camp. I mean, game isn't going to waste time explaining how it happens, the horse just kind of shows up. While yes, the downside to this headcanon is that Kieran has to wait a little bit, I think the payoff is better because of it.
> 
> I'm so happy my boy is so happy!
> 
> Also, Christmas morning is going to be a separate thing which will be under the Mary-Beth x Kieran set.


End file.
